


Full of Sound and Fury

by Arokel



Series: Tumblr prompts [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Bahorel has seven weiner dogs, M/M, Makeup, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-01
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2018-02-03 02:03:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1727102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arokel/pseuds/Arokel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>"How many?"</em>
  <br/>
  <em>"Six. Well, seven if you count the mother."</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>In which Bahorel finds himself the proud father of half a dozen weiner dogs and accidentally-on-purpose gets Enjolras and Grantaire back together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Full of Sound and Fury

**Author's Note:**

> anonymous [said](http://littlewadoo.tumblr.com/post/87337879853/this-isnt-a-getting-back-together-headcanon-but-i): this isnt a getting back together headcanon but i headcanon Bahorel as having like, seven weiner dogs

He calls Feuilly at 2 a.m., because Feuilly’s the one everyone calls when they’ve got a problem, because Feuilly’s the Fixer.

“ _How_ many?” Feuilly says, when Bahorel tells him.

“Six. Well, seven if you count the mother.”

“What’re you gonna do with them?”

“I thought maybe you could use your connections, find some people who’d want them?”

“Why not call _our friend who owns a pet store_ first? I’m sure Courf would be over the moon.”

“I called you first because I always call you first. You’re the Fixer.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

* * *

 

In the end, Courfeyrac can’t take them anyway, because he’s being a whiny little baby about the whole situation.

“I’m sorry, but I really have to have the parents’ health history if I’m going to sell them. They could have all sorts of problems. How did you even end up with them?”

“One of the guys at the gym just handed me the mother and told me something was wrong with her. I was going to take her to you, but, you know, things happened.”

Courfeyrac whistles. “That’s sketchy as fuck. I can give you tips on taking care of them, but you really shouldn’t even be rehoming them until they’re weaned.”

* * *

 

Within three days, it seems like everyone Bahorel has ever known has been over to see the puppies. They’re not much to look at at this stage, since they’re still blind and hairless, but everyone coos over them anyway.

“So, are you going to name them?” Combeferre asks when he comes to visit, idly watching Courfeyrac attempting to negotiate with a fiercely protective dachshund. “If she doesn’t want you to touch her puppies, Courfeyrac, maybe you shouldn’t touch them,” he says calmly.

“But I know how to take care of them so much better than she does!” Courfeyrac whines, snatching his hand away from the growling animal. Combeferre sighs and returns his gaze to Bahorel.

“Yes? I mean, no, because I don’t want to get attached to them or anything, but sort of? Because R was here, you know, because he and Enjolras have been fighting, and I let him see the puppies to cheer him up, and he’d been drinking…”

“What did he name them?” Combeferre asks with the long-suffering air of one who has dealt with his friends antics many, many times.

“Well, he wanted to name them Sorry, I’m, Such, A, Piece, Of, and Shit, but the mother already has a name, and also I wasn’t going to let him name one of them ‘Shit’. So in the end we settled on philosophers.”

“What are their names, then?”

Bahorel leads them around Courfeyrac, who is still attempting to get at the puppies, and points to each one in turn. “The mother is Molly; I wouldn’t let him change that. That one’s Rosseau, that’s Montesquieu, that’s Jefferson, those two are Locke and Voltaire, and that one’s Bacon.”

Combeferre frowns. “Are any of them girls?”

“Yeah, but fuck patriarchal gender norms, right?” Bahorel grins. “Besides, it’s not like they’re going to stick.”

* * *

 

“I’m sorry, what did you say their names were?”

Bahorel points to the puppies, now up and stumbling around the small area he has cordoned off for them. “That’s Locke, and behind her is Bacon, over there is Jefferson—“

Enjolras frowns slightly. “And-and you say Grantaire named them?”

“More or less.”

“I would’ve thought he’d go with Nietzsche or something like that,” Enjolras says quietly. He sighs. “I should apologize, shouldn’t I?”

“Pretty much.” Bahorel hesitates before speaking again. “I know it’s not my place, but have you two considered going to a relationship specialist?”

Enjolras fidgets. “Yeah, I don’t know, maybe. I do really want this to work, you know?”

“We all do,” Bahorel assures him. “Now go apologize, and tell him he was right about Voltaire being the first on her feet.”

* * *

 

The puppies’ first foray into the outside world is, in a word, chaos. Six leashes quickly become one giant knot, and passers-by eye Bahorel with a mixture of pity and amusement as he kneels on the pavement trying to untangle them, surrounded by wriggling, furry bodies. When he stands up and finds that they have re-wound their leashes around his legs in their excitable circling, even he has to laugh at himself.

Eventually, he enlists the help of Cosette, who walked dogs as a teenager, and is able to take the dogs on a fairly uneventful walk around the block. He calls Courfeyrac, flush with success.

“Hey, that’s great, Bahorel. Have you given any thought to how you’re going to rehome them?”

Bahorel starts. He’d forgotten about that. “I – do I have to?”

“Bahorel, you can’t keep seven dogs in your apartment.”

“But they’re small! And I already named them – well, Grantaire named them, but—“

Courfeyrac sighs. “I was afraid this would happen. Look, if you’re going to keep them, you’re going to need to take them to a vet, first off. I can lend you some crates to transport them.”

* * *

 

The first time Feuilly sleeps over at Bahorel’s after a long shift, he wakes up at six, hauls himself off the couch, and notices a distinct lack of dachshunds. Further investigation leads him to Bahorel’s room, and he immediately has to stifle his giggles.

The man in question is sprawled on his bed, absolutely covered in dogs. They line his sides like some sort of police chalk-outline, and Molly is curled up around his head. As quietly as he can, Feuilly takes out his phone.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on [tumblr](http://www.arokel.tumblr.com)!
> 
> Emily, idk if you'll hate me more for the Shakespeare title or the wiener dogs but there are no secrets here anymore.


End file.
